


Their First Time

by witchway



Series: The Perils Of Dating Tony Stark [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, College Student Peter Parker, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Times, M/M, Oral Sex, Pillow Talk, Sex Talk, Talking, Tony Has Issues, Tony is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: "I'll be gentle if you be honest."
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Starker - Relationship, Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Series: The Perils Of Dating Tony Stark [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1520855
Comments: 37
Kudos: 92





	1. The Perils Of Getting A Comedian Into Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to him when he arrived – maybe Tony was nervous too? 
> 
> But that couldn’t be – his comedian wasn’t fazed by anything. 

“ _It’s **work** dating a comedian, kid. **Hard** work. You need to keep that in mind,_” Nat had told him. Peter remembered

Looking back on it all, Peter felt he had a lot to be proud of. He had worked hard. He had worked _very_ hard. And it was all worth it.

Sometimes when Tony was gone for a while, on long business trips or when Avenger business separated them, Peter liked to replay it all in his head.

Even the first time.

Even the bad parts.

Their _first_ time - well - Peter wasn't sure it would get a lot of kudos on A03.

\---------------------------------

**The Perils Of Getting A Comedian Into Bed**

_The Adventures of Peter Parker_

As Spider-Man landed on the suitpad of Stark Tower, he had some time to think about nerves.

He should have been nervous, the first time he met Tony Stark, but on that occasion he had no time to prepare. The man simply showed up in his apartment, there were no time for nerves. The Nerves started after the man left (after he cut the man free after webbing him to the doorknob, of course.)

He was nervous the first time he met a group of Avengers. Of course, he was only there to attack Captain America. Like you do.

He was nervous the first time he met a large group of Avengers in a non-violent setting. (Around Cap it was particularly awkward.)

But nothing compared to how nervous he was _now_.

It was easy, playing it cool at the Avengers Compound. No matter _what_ insane thing his comedian said (“You’ll have to suck a _lot_ of dicks to get _that_ kind of tech, and sucking dicks is Spider-Man’s job.”) but that was because he had a mask over his face most of the time. Had he been nervous, the first time he kissed Tony on the mouth? Maybe not – he had had that move planned for ages. And he wasn’t nervous, texting Tony and demanding a rendezvous while the Avengers around them debated Earth-Asgard treaties. (Again, mask.)

But back in New York – there was no denying it now. He was as nervous as hell as he entered the Stark Tower penthouse. Which wasn’t fair. He had never been nervous in his fantasies – and he had played _this_ particular fantasy out _many_ times.

Although it occurred to him when he arrived – maybe Tony was nervous too? 

But that couldn’t be – his comedian wasn’t fazed by anything. 

Peter was nervous, but he certainly wasn’t too nervous to lock eyes with Tony as soon as he entered the open door, just like in his fantasies. 

(But wait… Tony wouldn’t know that they had locked eyes because his _suit was still on_ , so he pressed his hand against the center of his chest let the entire suit fall away. THEN he locked eyes with Tony Stark. Underneath he was NOT in his boxers, oh no, he was wearing the jeans and a t-shirt (and clean tighty whities!!) he had very specifically picked out for this night.) 

Stepping out of the suit he walked toward the man, then they walked toward each other. They met in the middle and Tony kissed him hard. Peter wrapped his arms around him, and found himself lifted off his feet.

They kissed passionately, _just_ like in Peter’s fantasies, until Tony had bodily carried him and deposited on the bar where he divested him of his shirt and then his jeans. The older man made a hungry noise that made Peter’s spine light up like a Christmas tree as he ran hands, mouth and tongue over the biceps and pectorals Peter had grown proud of. Tony was paying a lot of attention to his chest, licking and trying to suck bruises – which felt very good except Peter kept ducking down to catch his mouth in one more kiss. (It’s not that he didn’t _want_ Tony’s mouth on his chest, he wanted it, he _loved_ it. He just needed to feel Tony’s mouth on his mouth more.)

He tried to pull of Tony’s shirt as well but Tony wrestled his hands away – so he went for the belt and had more success. Everything was like a wet dream come true…

…until Tony opened his mouth.

Peter did his level best to ignore the first joke. The second would have gotten an eye-roll but he was too busy trying to nibble Tony’s earlobe.

 _"You think if you let him finesse you into bed, this will get any easier for you?"_ Nat had told him. He remembered now. He grimly tried to ignore it.

But by the fourth joke Peter roughly pushed Tony away.

He certainly used more force than he had intended – Tony stumbled back several steps before he could regain his balance, and for a terrible silent moment they just started at each other, Peter’s eyes wide, Tony’s mouth gaping.

“Tony who are you talking to?” Peter asked, but he didn’t ask it, he yelled it.

“Who is this comedy routine for….who’s your audience? We’re all alone. Is this your…are you still trying to _seduce_ me? I’m already here!?”

 _“And I’m here in spite of your nonstop stream of lewdness, dirty jokes and straight up raunchiness, NOT because of it!”_ That’s what he wanted to say, but didn’t.

Because Tony’s eyes were getting hard. And while Peter had _just_ as many sexual fantasies about Angry!Tony as he did about Romantic!Tony, dammit they were _not_ the same as his FirstTime!Tony fantasies and this was _not_ how it was going to go.

“Tony, I’m already here,” Peter said softly, slipping off the counter-top and moving gently toward him.

“ _There’s no one else here to perform for,_ ” he thought, but it sounded a little harsh so he didn’t say it.

“It’s the first…..it’s _our_ first time.

“Be gentle with me.”

He tried to put his arms around Tony’s neck, hoping to touch his hands to the back of Tony’s head, but quite suddenly found Tony’s strong hands grabbing one elbow and pushing him back sharply, holding him at arm’s length.

For a split second a panicking voice in Peter’s head screamed “This is it? This is all I get? After a _solid year_ of studying A03? I sat through all 26 chapters of that Jean Val Jean-Javier-Slavery fic _for **nothing**_?”

Of course, all he _said_ was, “What?”

There is a long uncomfortable silence – Tony’s mouth seemed to be working and suddenly Peter was afraid of what was going to come out.

But all that came out was

“I’ll be gentle if you be honest.”

Peter was too surprised to be angry.

“What?!….do you think I…..” Then he shook his head. _Hard_. Tony the Comedian was also Tony the Expert Deflector and he was _good_ at distraction. Peter refused to rise to the bait.

“Yes, Tony.” He said solidly. “Anything.”

Then he gently forced Tony’s hand away (he _was_ the stronger Avenger, after all) and stepped forward, putting his arms exactly where he wanted them to be.

“Just tell me what you need.”

They kissed again, or rather, Peter kissed Tony, still standing stiffly in his arms. That wasn’t good, dammit they had been doing _so well_ just minutes before, and Peter was desperate to get back to that place. He stroked the back of Tony’s head, the back of his neck, and when that got no response, he became even bolder and tried touching Tony’s lips with his tongue. 

He knew that probably wouldn’t work (he knew he was _far_ too shy to make that work) but when he got bold enough to poke his tongue through the lips Tony came to life in his arms. 

In seconds they were back to kissing breathlessly, and Tony was lifting Peter up by his waist, then by his ass, all the time making hungry noises that made Peter’s spine tingle. 

Then Tony ended the kiss just as suddenly and, taking Peter by the hand, led him to the bedroom.


	2. The Perils Of Being Good At Math

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then how many boys are we talking about?”
> 
> “Maybe I don’t want to tell you.”
> 
> “Maybe you agreed to be honest.”
> 
> “Ok but maybe I lost count.”
> 
> “Come on Kid, your good at math.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, for the record, Peter IS being honest.

He had time to get nervous, again, walking into Tony’s bedroom. He talked to himself the entire way there. _You can counter Tony’s mouth, you_ know _you can, you’ve had so much practice, remember at the compound when he said “In the Avengers we used to separate the men from the boys with a crowbar, only Peter broke the crowbar” and you said “Why do they call you **Iron** -man when all your armor is just bad comedy? They should call you **Sarcasm** -man” and the team called him “Sarcasm-man” for a week? And you could say dirty words just as good as the next guy, ok maybe not in public, just remember to say “god” instead of “gosh,” besides we’re not _in _public we’re in a bedroom,_ Tony’s _bedroom, the place you’ve been dreaming about for a solid year._ Then they were in the bedroom and Tony’s mouth was on his and he couldn’t think straight.

 _Damn_ that man could kiss.

He kept his arms linked above Tony’s head and let the man run his hands over his back, his ribs, his ass. He wanted time to explore Tony’s body too, maybe after more clothing was removed. For now he wanted to keep his hands out of Tony’s way.

Tony pushed him hard and he landed on the bed with a startled cry, then grinned from ear to ear. This was better than any fantasy could have ever hoped to be.

“Did you really get your cherry popped in Boystown on your birthday?” the man was asking, but Peter was a little distracted because Tony was finally shucking his pants, boxers and all, and there, finally, was the subject of Peter’s fevered speculations for _way_ too many years, hard and flushed and deliciously long.

Tony was now wearing nothing but his faded AC/DC shirt. Peter had nothing but his tighty whities covering a pounding erection and he hoped he didn’t look too ridiculous as he lay breathlessly on Tony’s bed and said

“…..hu?”

“Did you,” Tony said quietly speaking as he climbed onto the bed and onto Peter.

“Really lose….your cherry….on your birthday….in Boystown?”

Peter shook his head no, speechless, lost in Tony’s dark, serious eyes as he approached. Tony smirked. Then began to look alarmed.

“No _no!_ I mean, no, I lost it before _that_ , I never said that I...I said I _celebrated_ in Boystown. I lost my v-card long before that.”

“You said you’d be honest,” Tony cautioned, his hand snaking under Peter’s hip and fingers searching for the subject in question.

“ **To _ny_ ,** I am not lying about this,” Peter scolded (but really he was blanching at the thought of the comedian being a ‘first time,’ for anyone!)

“All right then,” Tony conceded, pulling his hand away. Peter wanted to complain, but then he hissed as the man parted his legs with the same hand and slipped that hand underneath to press against his hole directly.

“Then how many boys are we talking about?”

Peter was too breathless to answer.

“Peter, we had a deal,” Tony was saying softly, almost tenderly. “How many boys?”

“Maybe I don’t want to tell you.”

“Maybe you agreed to be honest.”

“Ok but maybe I lost count.”

“Come on Kid, you're good at math.”

“Uh….more than 1, less than 30?”

“You’re better at math than _that_.”

Peter closed his eyes, tried to breathe, tried to concentrate. Tried to balance out his desire to please with his resentment at the question.

“More than 5, less than 10, and that’s all you’re getting.” he said more solidly, looking Tony in the eye.

That seemed to take Tony by surprise, but he covered it by coming in for a kiss.

The kiss was long and slow and surprisingly tender. Tony slid one arm around Peter’s head and used his other hand to cradle Peter’s face. From there he controlled the kiss, pulling away when Peter became more frantic, preventing him from following, starting over again… and over again…. at that same slow pace, until Peter was whimpering and breathless. Only then did his hand leave Peter’s face and, without ending the kiss, divested him of his underwear.

And for a moment, for one fleeting moment, Peter thought Tony _might_ make a good First Time after all.

Especially when Tony spent so much time licking, sucking and biting his way across Peter’s chest that Peter almost didn’t notice when the mouth-wet finger began to press inside him. Tony seemed hell bent on kissing a bruise directly under Peter’s left nipple (both a delicious sensation and a terrible tease.)

“I don’t bruise - you won’t leave bruises, sorry,” he said with a grin, even as he pushed himself down onto the single finger.

“Now that’s a crime,” Tony replied. He curled his finger inside Peter’s body, causing the boy to whimper and bite his lip. Then he pulled his hand away, wet a second finger with his mouth, and started again.

He was watching Peter’s face closely as he worked (much to Peter’s chagrin, he bit his lip _hard,_ desperately trying to not make too much noise. He feared to say anything, for fear it would become a punchline tomorrow, but _dammit_ this man could finger him better than some boys could fuck.) 

Finally Tony stopped watching his face and began kissing a trail down the center of Peter’s chest, and Peter let out a sigh of relief.

Until Tony sucked him down in one smooth motion and Peter yelped helplessly.

He dared a peek down – Tony’s eyes were closed and he seemed to be fully distracted, devoted at this moment to sucking Peter off. Peter relaxed.

Then Tony opened his eyes and looked up, and Peter turned his head and started worrying all over again.

Dammit, he _couldn’t_ make too much noise. Why did Tony have to be so _good_ at this? Those fingers were still moving, doing obscene things inside him, and he wasn’t going to last long at all. He flung his hands above his head and took two handfuls of bedspread and gripped them hard – then had a horrible realization that he might rip the thick material if he came, might tear it like tissue paper, and he moaned in desperation and let go.

Tony lifted his head and looked at Peter with concern.

Then he chuckled.

Peter would have been embarrassed, but Tony’s face was relaxed and _happy_ that it made it made him relax a little as well. 

“Kid, you look like I’m torturing you,” Tony said softly. His smile was baffled, but sincere, until Peter was smiling a little too.

“Sorry,” he whimpered, covering his face with one hand. He had known this would be an issue, had tried to plan for it, but now he had forgotten what those plans were.

He took a deep breath and motioned for Tony (who still hand one hand inside him) to come closer.

“It’s just that I’m…..strong…..” he said, putting one hand on Tony’s bicep and squeezing down. He did it gently, but he _kept_ doing it until Tony’s eyes widened.

“And I don’t want to break anything….important….” Peter said, moving his hands above his head again, hoping he had made his point.

“Do you need…something to break?” Tony asked.

Then he looked up at the vast expanse of mahogany headboard of his king size bed.

Peter looked with him.

“Is that expensive?” he asked in an embarrassingly high voice when he realized what Tony was thinking.

“ _Not to me_ ,” Tony said suddenly scooping Peter up with his free hand.

Peter had been lying crosswise on the bed and now he and Tony worked to turn him to a 90 degree angle. But since Tony wasn’t willing to move the hand inside Peter’s body (and Peter wasn’t eager to let him) that they both wound up moving in such an awkward and ridiculous fashion that they were both laughing breathlessly by the time they had succeeded. 

Peter was overcome with giggles as Tony placed his hands on the top of the low headboard, and he was relieved to find his entire body relaxing.

Then Tony went down on him and the helpless moaning started all over again.

But it wasn’t so bad now. He was making a lot of noise, but Tony was making hungry, eager noises too, sucking him off enthusiastically. And the absurd journey to the headboard, crabwalking into position with Tony’s fingers still inside him (and Tony’s fingers were _still_ inside him, and making him crazy) and the laughter that came afterward made him feel safer than he had all night.

He dug his hands into the headboard and whimpered with sensation, but there was no way to keep his hands still. Tony’s mouth was hot and wet and overwhelmingly talented. Tony’s shirt was still on, which gave something Peter’s to fist inbetween stroking Tony’s hair. Soon he didn’t trust his hands anymore and he was gripping the headboard again, leaving marks. He swore and keened and whispered Tony’s name through gritted teeth. In time his body was clenched so tight he was aching, almost sobbing in desperation.

The Tony sat up suddenly, wrapped his hand around Peter’s straining erection and began to pump, and he came helplessly, shooting come across his chest.

Tony leaned down and licked a long, slow stripe upward. He moaned as he tasted, his breath stopping for a moment. He made no other noise, only pulled his fingers gently from Peter’s body and kissed him softly on his forehead.

For a while there was no noise in the room except the sound of Peter’s ragged breathing. With his eyes closed, Peter imagined for a moment that he was the only person in the room.

When he opened his eyes Tony was reaching over him, reaching across the vast bed to another pillow, moving it aside. There was a white hand towel, laying next to a bottle of lube.

His breath must have caught, because Tony started shaking his head no. He took the hand towel and wiped his hand, then tossed it back to where it had been hidden.

“Not tonight, Kid. Tonight it’s all foreplay. Tomorrow we can consummate.

“You demanded ‘gentle,’” he said causally, scooping one arm under Peter’s shoulders and pulling him close. 

“Although I’m not sure you kept up your end of the bargain.”

Peter was torn between the need to snuggle into Tony’s arms and the need to argue with him, to hold his own. For starters he had said ‘gentle’ as in ‘no dirty jokes,’ and that had been pretty clear. But also, _when_ the hell had he _not_ been "honest?”

“What do you think I’m not telling you?” he grumbled, pressing his face into Tony’s chest.

“Well, I still haven’t gotten a number yet.”

“You said ‘honest,’ you never said ‘full disclosure.’ 

“What’s the difference?” 

“Honest is yes or no questions. I don’t have to give up the details.”

“Fine,” Tony said factually. “Yes or no questions. What have you done before. Oral?”

Peter said nothing for a long moment.

Because he was currently pressed against Tony’s warm chest, held tightly with a strong arm, and it was his dearest, most secret fantasy come true.

But even hotter than his dearest, most secret fantasy?

Tony was jerking off with his other hand and Peter had a full on view.

“Umm….what? Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Giving or receiving?”

Being grilled like this on his sexual experience should have angered him. But in this quiet moment, with Tony’s quiet voice (and Tony’s busy hand) it seemed almost tender. It seemed intimate.

“Both.”

“And hand jobs?”

“….excuse me? You might as well ask me if I’ve been kissed before.”

“Have you?

“Yes stupid.”

“And have you been fucked before?”

“I told you yes.”

“And have you done any fucking?”

“Maybe.”

Tony made an impatient noise, and Peter realized he was willing to do anything to make this moment last, even confess. “Ok… no.”

For a moment there was silence, only the sound of Tony’s hand moving on himself. Peter reached out shyly and caressed his arm, then his wrist. He hoped Tony would take his own hand and wrap it around his cock – _god_ he was dying to know what the man felt like. He was trying to work up the nerve to ask when Tony spoke again.

“Who was first?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Peter said suddenly, surprising himself. _Dammit_ he didn’t want this moment to end, but he also couldn’t give up information that personal. That boy had been gentle and sweet and Peter couldn’t stand the idea of Tony turning it into a joke.

“You said ‘honest;” Tony said with a grin, but he was also breathless, and Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t going to stop now.

“I plead the fifth.”

Tony’s hand was squeezing his shoulder now Peter knew he was close. He longed to say something sexy like “I want to know how you feel inside me” or “I want to know what you taste like” but the boldest he could manage was to reach up with one hand and stroke Tony’s hair.

“Yes, Tony, yes,” he managed before Tony groaned and pulled him close, burying his face in Peter’s neck, coming over Peter’s chest.

Peter longed to drag his fingers through it to taste, but couldn’t work up the nerve.

* * * * *

Of all the things that surprised him that night, the fact that they actually fell asleep in each other’s arms might have been the biggest of all.

More than once Peter jerked awake from angsty dreams – dreams that they were arguing, that they were trading insults, that Tony had just made a sex-joke so outside Peter’s limited experience had to Google it- but every time he woke up in Tony’s arms and there was nothing but the sound of Tony’s breathing.

He caressed Tony’s body gently through the shirt, marveling. Reviewing. Turning it over in his mind. 

He played with the soft fabric and regretted that it didn’t come off, but remembered that Tony had actually fought to keep it on, and resigned to the fact that it might never come off at all. He was certainly aware that the man had received multiple open-heart surgeries (one in a cave in a desert without proper sterilization, oh yes, he knew that story well.)

He pulled away enough to peek up into the man’s sleeping face. What he saw there left him entranced. 

Nat had been right, this _had_ been hard work. But he had managed to get this rambunctious, obscene (and infuriating!) vulgarian into bed and oh lord, had it ever been worth it. He hadn’t been expecting to be grilled on his sexual experience, but he let that go. He wondered why it mattered. He wondered if he would ever get up the nerve to ask. But he had done pretty well – he hadn’t embarrassed himself _too_ much by being overly loud, and Tony had been at least as loud anyway. He was surprised, actually, at how _little_ Tony had spoken at times. Normally the man was a wall of sound.

And Tony…oh god…who knew Tony could be so _gentle_?

Tony stirred then, and Peter feigned sleep, not wanting to get caught staring up at the man’s face. When Tony started to move he made a sleepy sound and looked around, blinking. When he looked up again, Tony was smiling.

He took Peter’s hand in his and kissed it. 

“Shower?”

Peter nodded and they climbed out of the bed, Tony still holding his hand.

“So…do I get to spend the night?” Peter asked hopefully, as the man led him by the hand into the most ridiculously ginormous bathroom Peter had ever seen.

“If you want me to fuck you, you will,” his comedian replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You KNOW you can't give kudos again, so maybe leave a comment?
> 
> Leaving a comment is easy.
> 
> I promise I'll be gentle.


	3. Exchanging Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Drugs?”
> 
> “Illegal drugs?? Tony I’m an Avenger!”
> 
> “Alcohol?”
> 
> “Well obviously…” 
> 
> “I mean other than when you snuggling up to Bruce at my parties and drinking whatever he brings you….”
> 
> “Oh? Are we jealous?”
> 
> “Why should I be jealous? Bruce is a free agent."

The shower was huge, because of course it was. There was a bench against one wall to sit on, which made Peter get wicked ideas he was too damn shy to mention. It was dimly lit inside, which was odd, but it’s not like Peter was there to read a book. 

Tony sent him in first and he puzzled out the faucets until Tony entered.

Peter was aware that Tony was shirtless for the first time, and tried politely not to look. He wondered if the lights in the shower were so dim on purpose.

Tony looked relaxed as he stood under the spray, and he kept one arm around Peter’s waist which made Peter feel relaxed too. He was _not_ shy about moving in for kisses, and after a few he found the soap (Tony seemed to just old-fashioned bar soap like May did) and boldly began soaping his older lover down. 

He ran his hands over Tony’s neck and shoulders, then his arms. In the dim light he could still see Tony’s chest, his forehead was practically resting on Tony’s shoulder now, but Tony didn’t seem to mind. The roadmap of badly healed scars, all roads leading to the circle of pain in the middle, were fascinating, but he waited for permission to touch.

Without that he ran his hands down the arms to the waist. He had wanted to touch Tony _there_ , had wanted to do that for a very, long time, and now he took the opportunity. Tony didn’t protest, or comment, as Peter’s hands ran over and under the shaft, over his inner thighs, over his scrotum. Tony only watched silently. He seemed amused.

Peter sighed and smiled as he explored. He had spent a long time planning this moment, and even longer longing for it. 

(Of course, he would never admit that out loud!)

After a while Tony took over and gave Peter the same treatment, with one exception. When it was over he had Peter facing the shower wall and was pressing their bodies together, whispering tenderly into his ear.

“You want me to pound that virgin ass for you tomorrow, Petie-Pie?”

Peter sighed.

“First, not a virgin, told you that. Second, I would not make a good pie, I would make a terrible pie, I would make a pie nobody would eat. Third, well yeah because you promised you wouldOH JESUS Tony!”

Peter tried to turn his head and look down behind him but there was really no point. Tony was on his knees, Peter’s parted cheeks in both hands, and was doing something Peter had only heard described in memes and had always assumed was fictional.

* * * * *

They snuggled into Tony’s ridiculously large bed, Peter clad in a borrowed pair of boxers. Peter tried not to let Tony see his wide eyes, but he was feeling wide-eyed. Tony didn’t put his arm around Peter, but was content to let Peter press his forehead to Tony’s upper arm and stay there. Tony reached for his hand and they lay that way, finger’s entwined, talking quietly.

It was heaven.

(Among other things, because Tony couldn’t Peter’s eyes. Sometimes they went wide again, just thinking about what Tony had done to him in the shower.)

Tony was asking a lot of personal questions. Peter tried to ask some in return but Tony mostly brushed them off, which was irritating. Still, they were **_talking_** , actually **_exchanging information_** , something Peter felt like they hadn’t done since the Guardians of the Galaxy arrived. And if this was the information Tony wanted, so be it.

But, dammit, it was _hard_ to admit private thing to things to Tony.

“Ok…so… handcuffs?” he was asking now, playing with Peter’s fingers.

“Cops use them…on bad guys.”

“Have you ever used them?” 

“Why? I’m not a cop. Besides, cops use zip-ties now.”

“Ever web-up anyone and get them naked?

“Why would I do that? My partners have all been willing. Aren’t yours?”

“Leather?”

“Thats…..good …..for motorcycle jackets? Very practical.”

“Rimming?”

Peter grinned and ducked his head. 

“Enjoyed it – just now. Very much. Never realized you should just do it in the shower though, but now it makes perfect sense, actually. I’d like to try it, but _you’d_ have to stay still.”

“Toys?”

“I have multiple lego sets. Ok…” he said, trying hard not to blush. “Toys are ….interesting … when you’re alone.”

“Dildo’s or vibrator?”

“I’m not telling _you_!”

“So…I don’t get to see them?”

“ ** _No_**.”

“So there is a _them_.”

“Maybe.”

“Plastic or otherwise?”

“Plastic…wait what other kinds are there?”

“Have you ever been with a girl?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What happened with that MJ?”

“MJ is my best friend and was my one-and-only girlfriend. She is great and she is very intelligent. We kissed for exactly 3 months and then we both decided we were gay.”

“But have you ever had sex with a girl.”

“I just told you, I’m not interested in girls.”

“Oh. Practical,” Tony said, as if he had never considered that option before. 

“So, how many boys have you been with at a time?”

“ _To **ny**_ – I go to school at Columbia, not a porn studio. Speaking of which, what is _up_ with this bed? This thing is like the same size as my bedroom.”

“This is what is called an Alaskan King, which sleeps one more than a Wyoming King. It’s supposed to be ostentatious. And I’ve slept in bigger. But it has it’s advantages. Believe me – you can make up to three wet spots and just keep moving over without ever changing the sheets.

Peter hid his face in Tony’s arm, again, to hide his eyes.

“So….how many people have _you_ been with at one time?”

“I plead the fifth. Favorite position?”

Peter smiled. “All of them,” he answered honestly.

“Do you like guys cut, or uncut.” 

“I just take guys as they are….speaking of which….” he said gently, “Why _are_ you cut?”

Tony shrugged.

“Drugs?”

 _“Illegal_ drugs? Tony I’m an _Avenger_!”

“Whatever, Prudence. Alcohol?”

“Well obviously…” 

“I mean other than when you snuggling up to Bruce at my parties and drinking whatever he brings you….”

“Oh? Are we jealous?”

“Why should I be jealous? Bruce is a free agent. So, booze, yes or no?”

“Well yeah, alcohol, obviously, I’m in college. But I’ve tried…I set out to get drunk a couple of times but that’s…. it doesn’t really… _take_. Wait I thought we were talking about sex _,_ why are you giving me the purity test?”

“…. the purity test still exists?”

“Internet, Tony. Anything that was on the internet once is on the internet still.”

There was a long silence.

“…….the purity test was on the _internet_?”

They into silence from time to time. Sometimes he only felt peaceful. Other times Peter’s head filled with questions that he wanted to ask – Tony would be such a wealth of information – but couldn’t get up the nerve. 

At least he did break the silence, but all he asked was “Are you really going to make me wait until tomorrow to…..”

Tony made a gesture, a little wave, with his hand.

It was non-committal. It could have meant anything.

But when he made the move, their fingers were intertwined, and to Peter, it looked very romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you can't leave any more kudos, so why not a comment?
> 
> Comments are easy - just cut and paste your favorite line!
> 
> I'm not saying comments make for longer fiction, but sometimes comments have lead to longer fiction.....


	4. Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silent room wasn’t anymore – both of them forgot about all decorum and self-control, Tony moaning wordlessly, trying to hide his face and Peter keening helplessly, calling his name.

At some point in the night, Peter had fallen asleep and Tony had covered them with a blanket.

At some point in the night, Tony had turned and faced in the other direction, and began to snore. Peter lay awake, listening in wonder.

At some point in the night, Peter dreamed that he and Tony were dancing slowly in his kitchen to a song by AC/DC. That-Tony was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that they wouldn’t be having sex, ever, because he (Tony) didn’t want to have sex. Peter only smiled and refused to give up. Eventually they did have sex (because Peter had worn him down) and when then did that Tony had said sweet, tender things to him in bed. Then Peter woke up and remembered that This-Tony called him “Prudence.”

At some point in the night Peter had a dream about Natasha retiring from being a master interrogator and super-spy and taking up couples’ counseling. In the dream, it occurred to Peter that this made perfect sense.

The last dream was about the Guardians of the Galaxy and their bizarre assortment of alien personalities and the terrible news they brought and when Peter sat straight up and said “What?!” he realized he was sleeping in Tony’s ridiculously big bed and it was morning.

Tony was laying beside him. He seemed unperturbed by his dream. “I have those too,” he said factually.

Peter looked down at him, remembered what time it was, and smiled.

Tony pulled him into a hesitant kiss, but Peter threaded his fingers through the man’s hair and pulled him down, a move which he seemed to appreciate. He moved his body on top, moving a hand boldly to cup Peter’s ass.

“Oh Tony I……..oh………I really _have to go to the bathroom….._ ”

He shoved Tony’s body aside and climbed of the bed, embarrassed, but Tony just chuckled. “Go ahead, meet me in the shower.”

“The shower…oh god.”

That amused Tony even more.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The shower was a non-event, however. Tony only showed up for a moment to rinse off and talk randomly about a project he had going on in the lab. He left Peter there alone and headed back to the bedroom.

By the time Peter had dried off he was already in bed, wearing a new t-shirt, waiting under the covers. Peter’s was about to ask if they could turn off the lights when he realized the lights _were_ off, and the room was now lit with the sunlight coming in from the massive windows.

He flushed. He dashed to the bed and climbed in.

“Are you sure you want to stick with the number you gave me last night?” Tony commented as he held the blankets up for Peter to climb under, but Peter only rolled his eyes.

“I’m alarmed by your obsession with numbers, Tony.”

Fortunately Tony started kissing him then, a practice Peter didn’t find alarming at all. It was the same as last night, he was being held with one arm around his shoulders and another hand on the side of his face. He would sometimes kiss softly, sometimes tease, sometimes holding Peter in place, sometimes allowing him to press forward for more. Sometimes the teasing went on for too long and Peter pulled Tony’s hand away from his face and kissed him hungrily. He kissed him until the older man had to come up for air. 

Peter braced himself, ready to defend himself against the joke about how eager he was, but Tony only smiled and started over, gently.

Damn, who knew the man could be so gentle?

After a great deal of kissing Tony pushed the covers down to their knees. Peter knew the covers had to go before the action started, so he kicked them down even further. Tony looked up and to the side, but when Peter tried to look where he was looking he put his finger on Peter’s chin and turned his head to face the other direction, then began nibbling on Peter’s earlobe. This led to more kissing, so much kissing Peter was beginning to feel drunk, and found himself turning away just as Tony was parting his legs and slipping one lubricated finger inside.

It was so much sweeter than the night before (and the night before had been so _sweet_.) It was hard to be nervous when Peter remembered how talented this man’s fingers were.

“More,” he whispered.

His boldness was rewarded by a hard kiss and a tongue that kept him so busy he almost forgot what he had asked for, until two slicked fingers slipped inside and began curling and moving until Peter was gaping and arching his back too much to kiss. Tony watched him silently.

“More.”

“Not more lube….more _fingers_ ,” he hissed when Tony tried to pull his hand away, and the man smiled in surprise.

“Bossy,” Tony said, and it was the first thing he had said in a while. 

“I _know_ what I need,” Peter growled, enjoying the look of surprise on Tony’s face. Tony pushed in three fingers, then four, and soon was twisting his hand and teasing Peter’s hole until Peter was whimpering helplessly. 

“I want to watch you come, touch yourself,” Tony whispered.

Peter clamped his mouth shut hard on what he wanted to say (Which was “Oh GOD no!” He had heard _far_ too many jokes on _that_ topic for Peter to even consider it.) He shook his head no instead, his eyes closed tight. (Maybe, if Tony has asked again, had asked sweetly and stayed very close, had said “touch yourself _for me_ ,” he could have worked up the nerve. But Tony didn’t ask again.)

“More,” he said finally, when Tony’s four fingers were no longer enough. 

“Not more _fingers_ ,” he whimpered, when Tony clearly did not get his meaning. He clamped his hand down on Tony’s wrist and pulled his hand free.

“I need...” He dared himself to say it, but all that came out was “I need _you_.”

“Please, Tony, I need _you_.”

Tony sat up and reached out. Next to the lube was the towel and he used it to wipe his hand. It seemed a little rude to Peter that Tony appeared so _calm_ , but soon he was turning Peter onto his stomach which was good because Peter didn’t have to look at him at all. Peter lay still as he felt his heart hammering against the mattress and tried to remember to breathe. Tony kissed and nuzzled the side of his face, which made it easier to remember. 

“Are you ready?” 

Peter nodded.

Tony kissed his away across Peter’s shoulders, licking and nibbling, even as he got himself into position. As he placed one last bite on the edge of Peter’s upper arm he eased inside.

Peter relaxed automatically. He felt open and ready – damn that man _really_ knew what to do with his fingers – and he moaned as Tony pushed slowly and steadily inside him.

Until it was too slowly and then he started pushing back.

That got a lovely reaction from Tony, and Peter grinned from ear to ear. Bracing his hand directly in front of him he pushed back again, bringing a tiny whimper from the man above him. It was so quiet it was almost impossible to hear, he had to hold his breath so he wouldn’t miss it, and he did it again and again. Soon Tony got the hint and picked up the pace.

The room was completely silent, and while Peter was certainly missing the words he had hoped Tony would say he made up for it by reaching back with one hand and caressing Tony’s face. That kept them connected, and connected felt good. He tangled his hand in Tony’s hair. 

Then he realized he could keep Tony’s mouth _right next to his ear_ , could move it there and HOLD it there (and there wasn’t much Tony could do to stop him!) which meant he could hear every sound Tony made. 

It seemed to go on forever; the rocking, the friction, the beautiful, soft, surprised noises Tony made as they moved together. He would have been happy to stay that way, being underneath his lover in the early sunlight, moving gently, skin to skin, listening to these wonderful noises Tony couldn’t hide, and would have stayed just like that if Tony hadn’t suddenly whispered “What do you need?”

It was a low and rough voice, different from what he had heard before, so different Peter wondered if he was close and trying to fight it. But at the same time the question made Peter’s eyes go wide. He didn’t _need_ anything, he was very happy right at this moment, but would it be better if….

“Let me turn around.”

Tony pulled out swiftly which made Peter cry out a little, an obscene sound in this silent room. Tony flipped him over quickly too, and he gasped at the sudden reversal – he had felt safe moments before and now he was terribly exposed. But then Tony was in his arms again and he hung on tight.

Tony fumbled for the first time, having trouble connecting their bodies again, and Peter stroked his hair soothingly even as his eyes went wide – Tony _fumbling_? Was that even a thing? But soon the man was inside again and Peter wrapped his legs around Tony’s waist automatically.

Tony groaned and he sank inside and Peter’s mouth broke open and wide. The silent room wasn’t anymore – both of them forgot about all decorum and self-control, Tony moaning wordlessly, trying to hide his face and Peter keening helplessly, calling his name. For several moments they moved like that (Peter shoving his hand against his mouth desperately trying to contain himself) until Tony came. Peter wrapped his arms around Tony’s head and held on tight, kissing and stroking his hair, trying to catch his breath, trying not to grin like an idiot, trying not to cry. 

He had done it. 

He had successfully gotten fucked by Tony Stark.

He wanted to laugh out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've come this far, why not leave a comment?


	5. The First Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Give me … give me four days tops, and I’ll take you on a date.” He grinned again and wiggled his eyebrows. “If I take you on a date, then you’ll have to let me get to 3rd base.”
> 
> “Given what you did to me in the shower I don’t want to know what third base is, but I’m in."

Tony recovered quickly, pulling away. Not wanting to answer any questions Peter turned around in his arms and pulled him close again until they were chest-to-back again. Then (in a move he might have fantasized about far too many times) he pulled Tony’s hand to his cock and showed him what to do. Tony’s strong arm against his chest was the thing dreams were made of, and his hand, well, it was as talented as the man’s mouth. Peter knew it would be soon and he fought with everything he had not to make too much noise. 

Then Tony suddenly rolled himself on his back, moving Peter with him, and Peter had nothing left to fight with.

He yelped. He flailed. His hands tried to find purchase on the headboard but this position, held on top of Tony’s chest while being jerked off by one expert hand, it was hopeless. He had nothing but Tony’s strong arm across his chest to hold onto, so he clung to that. He couldn’t even lay his head anywhere, there was no place for it to go. All he could do was flounder helplessly and cry out wordlessly as he came.

“Yes, yes,” Tony was growling as he milked Peter’s cock for all it was worth. He made a greedy noise and rolled Peter back to the bed where he _attacked_ Peter’s chest and stomach with his tongue. 

The first time he had just licked a stripe through the come on Peter’s chest, but this time was different. This time he was either trying to lap every drop of it, or else had been overcome with a sudden need to lick every bit of Peter’s chest and stomach – Peter had no idea. He was also too stunned to ask. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he wasn’t entire sure if he had ever come that hard in his life.

He was also not entire sure why Tony was making those noises – those hungry noises as he seemed hell-bent on licking Peter clean the way a rude child would lick gravy off a plate. As he caught his breath he was overcome with the very strange vision of the Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Ridding hood in bed together. It was a ridiculous image, Tony eating him up, and he turned to tell Tony so but Tony wasn’t there. Tony wasn’t there because _Peter was sitting in his Differential Equations class waiting for a test he hadn’t studied for, cold because he had actually come to class dressed in his boxers. **And he didn’t care.** He really didn’t give a fuck. He grinned from ear to ear. His life was good -- his life was very good – and one bad grade or one bad fashion decision wasn’t going to upset him now. He was dating Tony Stark. His dance card was full._

He woke up in Tony’s bed and found he wasn’t surprised at all. In fact waking up in Tony’s bed was perfectly fine to him.

He looked around for Tony who was not there. And that was ok – he had a vague memory of Tony coming to him with a warm washcloth in one hand and a bathtowel in the other. When he hadn’t been able to raise Peter enough to get into the shower, Peter could almost remember that conversation, he had suggested Peter roll onto the towel. He must have done so, because he was laying on it now.

Peter sat up.

Sitting naked in Tony’s gigantic bed in the sun-drenched room seemed perfectly normal, now, as if he had been doing it for years. Just 24 hours ago this had still been his Shangri-La-a, his Holy Grail, his Final Boss Battle. Now it was, literally, a part of his past.

He covered his mouth with both hands. He laughed to himself even as he was wiping tears from his eyes. He actually found his breath catching. He was glad the room was empty. If Tony were here, it would sound like he was sobbing. 

He stood up exactly where he was and walked across Tony’s bed. At the edge he stepped off and walked up to the massive window that dominated the wall, the one that looked out over NYC. He found a place to part the curtains and moved them. For a long moment he stood; a nude prince looking down at his new kingdom.

His pulse was quick and his stomach tight. He felt an odd sense of panic -- not a _real_ sense of panic but an _odd_ one, as if somewhere else there were a man, just like him, standing, just like this, and he was panicking. It was a bizarre idea and he tried to analyze it. It felt vaguely familiar and he wondered why.

He stood for a long time, looking down at New York City, until he finally placed it. It was the mild panic he had experienced when he had final settled, completely, into his dormroom and May had, finally left. Waving good-bye to her had made his stomach drop, and he hated himself for it. Here he was, achieving his dream, attending Colombia, and he was feeling what, homesick? He ignored the sensation steadfastly until it went away. 

But it didn’t strike him as terribly odd, now. This was just the odd sense of panic that came to him when he reached his goal, and he didn’t have a new one. It was a little unfair, this weird little _oh no!_ sensation that came to him when he should be experiencing the thrill of victory. Victory should feel a hell of a lot cooler.

Peter Parker had spent exactly 13 months, two weeks and a day following his meticulous plan to get Tony Stark into bed, and by god, he had succeeded. This flutter in his stomach was a _kind_ of thrill, the thrill of suddenly having _no plans left._ He had no idea what would come next.

And that, he realized, was all right.

What is a superhero’s life, after all, if not living dangerously?

He smiled and headed toward the bathroom. Besides, he _did_ have _plans_. After his shower he would set out to find Tony. That was what was next. And that was just fine.

* * * *

He followed his nose into the kitchen, which smelled like eggs. He could hear FRIDAY telling Tony something and Tony grousing. When Tony saw him enter he uncovered an omelet that had been warming on the stove. He put it on the countertop with a frown.

“Bad news – Fury’s riding my ass to get back to the compound. Nothing big, just Ironman stuff. Won’t take but a couple of days.”

“Did I get you in trouble?” Peter asked, walking to Tony. (The omelet on the counter looked good, but Tony looked better.)

Tony met him halfway, putting his hands on Peter’s waist with a smile.

“Trouble’s my middle name.”

Peter put his arms around Tony’s neck and looked up with his best ‘innocent’ eyes. “You told me your middle name was Edward.”

“Anthony Edward is my In-trouble name. You only get to use that name if you’re going to spank me.”

“Tony,” he said plainly, losing his ‘innocent’ eyes. “If I spanked you I’d break you in half.”

He was rewarded with a wicked grin and a kiss. Tony’s hands moved behind him so he pressed his body forward, but then FRIDAY interrupted explaining that there was another 5 messages from Fury, the last two marked ‘urgent.’

Tony growled in frustration, then pulled up enough to say “Let me make it up to you. Give me … give me four days tops, and I’ll take you on a _date_.” He grinned again and wiggled his eyebrows. “If I take you on a date, then you’ll have to let me get to 3rd base.”

“Given what you did to me in the shower I don’t want to know what _third_ base is, but I’m in.

“ _That’s not what I meant_!” he said, putting his hand on Tony’s mouth to ward off the obvious. “I mean ‘I’m game.’” 

“You might be both,” Tony joked, then let him go with a smack on the ass.

“Eat your omelet, help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, I gotta pack.” 

“You can read the morning news from my tablet there, just ask FRIDAY for access” he said as he left the room, and Peter did exactly that. But he had trouble eating his omelet. It was difficult to eat when you’re grinning from ear to ear.

THIS is what dating Tony Stark was like. Omelets and the morning news. Kisses and spanking references (and swats on the ass) as they breezed past each other during their busy mornings. Even as he reveled in all this domesticity, he could hear Tony calling to him from another room.

“What?”

“Mr. Stark would like me to ask you what your schedule is on Thursday,” FRIDAY asked him.

“Tell Mr. Stark if I blow off my Particle Physics study group I’m free after 4:00,” Peter said around a mouthful of omelet, then heard FRIDAY relay the information to Tony in the next room.

“Mr. Stark would like to politely request the pleasure of your company on Thursday evening at 5:00.”

“Mr. Stark would like to politely inform you he is going to rock your world.”

“Thank you FRIDAY.”

Peter kept smiling. After his breakfast he gathered up his clothing (mostly on the floor in the same room he had been eating in.) He thought about telling Tony he would return his boxers later. Then he grinned and decided to keep them. Suiting up he called out to Tony before departing. Tony appeared, dressed in his suit and hastily tying his tie. They met for a quick kiss goodbye and Peter left.

“See you soon,” Tony called as he rushed back to his packing.

“See you soon.”

“Don’t fuck too many Frat Boys before Thursday!”

“I’ll try not to.”

Webslinging home, glowing from that last kiss and grinning like an idiot, Peter had an odd thought:

_Nat had been wrong._

_Dating a comedian wasn’t hard work._

_Dating a comedian wouldn’t be hard work at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter.
> 
> As cheerful as Tony is in this chapter, he's also hiding something.


	6. The First Timer Has Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dammit, he didn’t want to go back to the compound, he wanted to stay here. He wanted to drink.

KAREN informed Tony of Peter’s position, as she always did. Only when she informed him that he was half-way back to Columbia did Tony finally give up the pretense of packing.

He would still have to leave, of course. To keep up appearances. Dammit, he didn’t want to go back to the compound, he wanted to stay here. He wanted to drink.

He had done really well, considering. Waiting in his penthouse for Peter to arrive for the liaison he had demanded via text message (in a roomful of Avengers, no less. Oh Fury and Nat had glared at him, but what did they know? He had a dead-sexy Spider-Man on the phone, demanding a time and a place. Put up or shut up. Well, he was Tony Stark. He _never_ shut up.) he had dealt with nerves with a few glasses of scotch. When that didn’t work, he realized _why_ he was nervous. He no longer had Pepper on hand to deal with any next-morning awkwardness. He wished Peter would be different, but when a man’s gotta run, a man’s gotta run.

He adapted.

He didn't have Pepper, but he still had FRIDAY.

By the time the kid arrived FRIDAY had multiple announcements planned – all fake summons from an annoyed Fury. All Tony had to do was touch his watch when he needed them.

But he hadn’t needed them. He had woken in the morning peaceful and serene. He had watched the kid sleep in wonder, amazed and what they had accomplished. They had done really well last night. Yes, he would apparently never get to talk during sex, but he was so desperate to get with this kid that he didn’t give a damn, and _damn_ , it had worked. 

And apparently talking *in between sex* was acceptable. He had gotten Peter to confess to many things, though not everything (but no one ever confessed to everything.) And Peter enjoyed himself – a lot. Yes his mahogany headboard now had dents in it, but that just made him grin. Tony had watched the kid sleep until necessity drove him to the bathroom. He had checked on the kid before taking a shower. Had watched him for a while before he had decided to make breakfast. Had watched him through the security feed on his tablet while he was making omelets. That’s why Tony saw Peter sit up.

That’s why Tony saw Peter sit up, and start sobbing.

Tony’s eyes went wide at what he was seeing – but there was no doubt about it, Peter was wiping tears from his face. Then he was walking to the window, shoulder’s moving as he struggled to catch his breath. Tony watched, wide-eyed, as the boy stood at the window, looking out until, in time, he calmed himself down. 

Tony’s stomach, his entire body, went cold. Something had gone very, very wrong.

Peter had woken up and he already had regrets, and that was something Tony was _not_ prepared for.

He touched his watch so that FRIDAY’s fake announcement happened exactly as Peter entered the kitchen. (What could he say. He was just that good.)

Convincing the Kid he was in trouble with Fury was easy – everyone was in trouble with Fury all the time, particularly Tony. Peter was easily talked into another date and seemed happy to eat his breakfast and pretend that everything was fine. That’s all Tony needed. Although _why_ he asked for four days leeway he couldn’t say, exactly. He knew he needed to buy himself time, but for what he didn’t know. But that’s the way he did things; act now, plan later. It usually worked for out for him. He was still alive, at any rate.

It wasn’t until he was on route to the compound that he hit on a plan. 

What they had done in bed that night, and that morning, had been pretty basic. No special skill set here, other than Tony’s own excellent finesse. But Tony could pull out a few more skills, oh yes, Tony could pull out _quite_ a few. In fact…

One upon a time, maybe even before Peter was born, Tony had set out to develop a certain set of … oral skills. An amazing amount of oral skills, in fact. Not to put too fine a point on it, young Tony Stark had decided he was going to set out to be the best. 

WHY did he need to be the best deepthroater at MIT? Who knows, maybe because graduating at 17 wasn’t enough. Maybe because there was a cold war on and no one was going to live to be 50 anyway. Maybe because he was Howard Stark’s son and he just needed to make a point. Maybe because practicing holding your breath was the best way to get through a scolding (he had clocked in at 2 minutes in his prime.) Who knew. It hardly mattered now. After he turned 30 he simply stopped given and started receiving. Which made perfect sense. He could hardly expect to perform at that level now.

Unless.

Unless of course.

Maybe it was like riding a bicycle? 

He had four days to figure it out.

Because he really needed to figure it out. He had made a complete ass of himself just now. He cringed at the thought. Peter had called out as he was leaving and Tony had rushed out _while he was tying his tie_ and asked for a good-bye kiss like some love-sick fool. A kiss good-bye while putting on his tie, who the fuck did he think he was, Father Knows Best? Even the random joke he had called out to make up for it didn't erase the mistake. He had to save face. He had to save face _bad_.

But the poor kid had already agreed to the second date and then…oh, then. _If_ he could really get Peter out…if he could just get Peter's pants down one more time (even if Peter had regrets Tony could probably get one more shot in the limo. What young man Peter’s age would turn down oral in a limo?) and perform well that might buy Tony some more time. Maybe a few more dates, a few more hookups. Just that little bit of more time. And getting just a little bit more time with the Kid was all he needed.

Besides, that would give him the chance to taste the Kid again.

He couldn’t be certain – dammit he was pretty sure he was just crazy – but he really needed a few more (dozen) experiments to make sure.

To make sure he wasn’t remembering it wrong.

His memory was screwy, probably due to too much alcohol and stress. But in his memory, that Kid tasted like _starlight_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you can't leave any more kudos, so why not leave a comment?

**Author's Note:**

> You've come this far, why not leave a comment?


End file.
